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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26974627">Draw Me Like One of Your Russian Girls</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actual_Writing_Trashcan/pseuds/Actual_Writing_Trashcan'>Actual_Writing_Trashcan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Colossus Hyperfixation Collection [87]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Deadpool (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Draw Me Like One of Your French Girls, F/M, Fantasizing, GET IT, Lingerie, Masturbation, Nude Modeling, Possibly not, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Smut, Voyeurism, but russian because piotr is russian, i think, implied sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:21:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,006</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26974627</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actual_Writing_Trashcan/pseuds/Actual_Writing_Trashcan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Piotr draws you while you wear some lingerie --and you decide to give him a show while he's at it.</p>
<p>(Set after "It's Truly Magical.")</p>
<p>[All warnings in the tags. This is part of a weekly October series that will ramp up in smutiness as each week passes.]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Piotr Rasputin/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Colossus Hyperfixation Collection [87]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1079544</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Draw Me Like One of Your Russian Girls</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s no candlelight to cast a romantic, sensual mood.</p>
<p>No, it’s the middle of the damn day because when you’d suggested the idea to your husband, he’d balked at the idea of doing it sensual, warm candlelight because “drawing in dim light is not good for eyes. Causes severe eye strain and can lead to vision problems in future.”</p>
<p>There’s also no rose petals spread on the bed.</p>
<p>Again, your husband, because “they will get crushed and stain sheets.”</p>
<p>But you are wearing some skimpy, silky, lacey black lingerie, reclining on your marriage bed in the middle of the day while you watch your sensible, dork of a husband draw you like “one of his French girls.”</p>
<p>Or, perhaps “Russian girls” would be more apt.</p>
<p>And, all in all, you can’t find it in you to even be miffed; he is <em>your</em> sensible dork, and that is the <em>only</em> thing that matters.</p>
<p>Piotr looks up at you from his sketchbook. He smiles, gaze raking over your lace and silk clad curves. “How are you feeling, <em>myshka</em>?”</p>
<p>“Pretty sexy, not gonna lie.” You smirk at him and waggle your eyebrows impishly. “How am I looking, babe?”</p>
<p>“<em>Very</em> sexy.” He winks at you before going back to sketching. “As always.”</p>
<p>You giggle.</p>
<p>There’s something fun about being drawn in such a deliberately sexy manner, you have to admit. Granted, you see plenty of ads, billboards, and prints of “effortlessly sexy” women plastered everywhere anytime you set foot out of the house, turn on the TV, or go online –but it’s different in an intimate, closed setting like this. Instead of a marketing gimmick, it’s an act of intimacy and love.</p>
<p>And, of course, pretty damn hot.</p>
<p>You smile fondly as you watch Piotr draw; the way his forehead wrinkles when he’s concentrating, the way he sticks the tip of his tongue out when he’s dealing with a tricky bit, the way his nose scrunches up when the drawing isn’t doing what he wants it too… it’s too adorable for words. “What’s it like drawing lace?”</p>
<p>“Fiddly,” Piotr mutters, pencil scribbling across the page.</p>
<p>“But worth it…” You lift the hem of your negligee when he looks up at you, revealing the laced edge of the stockings that went with the set. You wink at him. “Right?”</p>
<p>He chuckles and winks back. “Very worth it.” He works for a few moments longer, then sets his pencil down and holds out the sketchbook. “Take look.”</p>
<p>On the page is a lovingly rendered sketch of you. You’re smirking at the “viewer” while laying on your side. Your hair is artfully tousled, and the lingerie looks every bit as delicate in the drawing as it does in perfect.</p>
<p>You beam. “Holy shit! This is awesome! I look <em>hot</em>!”</p>
<p>Piotr chuckles and leans over to kiss your cheek. “Is easy, when one has such beautiful inspiration to work with.”</p>
<p>You duck your head, cheeks burning. “Pretty sure it comes down to the artist’s talent.”</p>
<p>“I said what I said.”</p>
<p>“And I said what I said.” You smile when he kisses you, then raise an eyebrow at him when it ends. “Can I talk you into doing one more drawing?”</p>
<p>“What do you have in mind, <em>myshka</em>?”</p>
<p>“I was thinking…” You crawl up to the top of the bed, where you lean back against the pillows and spread your legs—</p>
<p>Which reveals that you haven’t been wearing underwear this whole time.</p>
<p>Piotr inhales sharply. His eyes widen, darkening rapidly as he stares at you.</p>
<p>“Something like this,” you finish. You place one hand between your legs –enough to be implicative, but not enough to block the, ah, <em>view</em>—and flash him a coy, seductive smile. “Sound good?”</p>
<p>A slow grin stretches across your husband’s face. “You know,” Piotr says, voice husky and thick with lust, “we could just… leave drawing until later.”</p>
<p>“But I wanna see what it’d look like,” you fake-whine. You pout at him for good measure, batting your eyelashes. “Please, Piotr? For <em>me</em>? Your beloved <em>myshka</em>?”</p>
<p>Piotr chuckles and positions his drawing pad against his knee once more. “Alright, alright.”</p>
<p>You give him a few moments to get the basic pose and main details. You might have a devious, dastardly plan in mind, but you do have <em>respect</em> for the artistic process. You wait until Piotr’s engrossed enough in the drawing to not realize what you’re up to right away—</p>
<p>And then you get started.</p>
<p>You start off slow, so as not to draw too much attention. You draw your fingers gently over your folds, doing little more than the barest teasing.</p>
<p>Piotr looks up and smirks when he sees that your hand has moved. “And just what are you doing?”</p>
<p>“Scratching an itch,” you fire back. You grin impishly –defiantly—and nod at the sketchpad in his hands. “Keep on drawing, babe. Nothing to see here.”</p>
<p>He smirks, but keeps drawing.</p>
<p>You continue with barely touching yourself for a few moments longer, just to make sure that he’s refocused on the drawing. Then, once you’re confident that he won’t look up for a bit, you slide your fingers between your folds.</p>
<p>You’re already turned on. Between the anticipation of enacting your plan, knowing what’s going to come afterwards (namely, you and Piotr), and the tense, unbroken ardor that’d filled the room while Piotr had drawn you the first time, you’re basically ready to go.</p>
<p>You slide your fingers along your cunt, gasping slightly as arousal unfurls in your belly. You swirl them around slowly, moving in even, languid circuits. All you’re trying to do right now is stoke the embers.</p>
<p>The rest will come later.</p>
<p>Piotr looks back up at you to reference some part of his drawing. He stares at your hand for a moment. His cheeks flush –and then he grins. “Still ‘scratching itch,’ <em>moya lyubov’</em>?”</p>
<p>“As far as you know,” you retort with a cheeky grin. “Don’t stop,” you add when he makes to set his sketchbook and pencil aside. At his stunned, lust-addled expression, you wink and say, “Keep drawing.”</p>
<p>Piotr wets his lips with his tongue. His eyes –normally the color of the sky on a flawless summer’s day—are dark with desire. “You moved your hand.”</p>
<p>“Do whatever you want with it.” You spread your folds apart with your fingers –which makes your husband inhale sharply. “I trust your judgement.”</p>
<p>Piotr’s Adams apple bobs as he swallows. He stares at you for a moment –or, more accurately, what your hand’s doing—then resumes drawing.</p>
<p>Anticipation sings through your veins. You know that he’s just as turned on as you are, that you’re going to get so well and truly fucked whenever he’s done drawing or you give in, whichever happens first—</p>
<p>You bite down on your lower lip to stifle a whimper. Your fingers speed up, moving higher to dance around your clit. You won’t touch yourself properly, not just yet; you want to drag this out, want to make sure you give him a proper show.</p>
<p>Piotr keeps drawing, keeps his pencil moving across the paper –but his eyes keep flicking up to watch you. His jaw tightens when the light reveals just how <em>wet</em> you are; for a moment, it almost looks like he wants to toss his sketchpad aside and have his way with you right then and there –and you’re so taut from anticipating and so horny from just the way he <em>looks at you</em> that you’d honestly welcome it—but he stays put in his chair and keeps drawing.</p>
<p>You want him. You want his lips on yours, want to feel his hands on your body, want the warmth and weight of his bulk against you, want his dick <em>inside you</em>—</p>
<p>Your fingers bump against your clit; you let out a soft moan.</p>
<p>A low, choked growl catches in the back of Piotr’s throat. He’s just watching you know, gaze unabashedly locked on your cunt and your fingers.</p>
<p>“Are –are you gonna draw me?” you manage as you slide your fingers over your clit. Pleasure bursts through your veins, forcing you to briefly close your eyes and moan. When you can open them again, you add, “Or are you just going to watch?”</p>
<p>He exhales hard through parted lips… and starts drawing once more.</p>
<p>You let your eyes slide shut again. You focus on the feeling of your fingers rubbing against your clit, on the exquisite pleasure and tension burning in your abdomen. Your mind drifts away, conjuring up flashes of fantasy to help carry you along towards climax.</p>
<p>In your mind, it’s Piotr touching you. He’s gently rolling your clit between his fingers, nipping at your neck and jaw and lips while you squirm underneath him. He chuckles and calls you ‘<em>precious</em>’ and ‘<em>beautiful</em>’ and it’s all you can do to breathe properly.</p>
<p>Your mouth falls open. The movements of your fingers speed up, just a little; you know it’s about consistency, not speed, but the tension in your cunt has grown into an ache, one that you desperately need soothe.</p>
<p>In the stage of your mind, he’s eating you out, now. His massive hands are on your thighs, holding them apart while his tongue and lips work at your soaked core. He alternates between sucking on your clit and swirling his tongue about it, reducing you to a babbling, gasping mess while you writhe against the bedsheets.</p>
<p>Your toes curl against the bed. You moan, low and throaty, as you steadily race towards climax.</p>
<p>Your mind flashes again –and then he’s fucking you. There aren’t many consistent details aside from the fact that he’s inside you, stretching you out and filling you, setting a rhythm so deliciously sweet and perfect that you nearly cry—</p>
<p>You moan, louder this time. You squirm against the pillows, hips rocking up against your hand. You know that you’ve ruined whatever pose that you had at the start of this, that you’re moving too much to be drawn, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.</p>
<p>You suspect that Piotr doesn’t care much, either.</p>
<p>You let out a choked cry as a particularly sweet, knee-buckling burst of pleasure zips through you. You’re close, you’re <em>so damn close</em>— “P-Piotr—”</p>
<p>“It’s okay, <em>myshka</em>,” he murmurs, voice gone to gravel. “Let go.”</p>
<p>Hearing him talk –hearing how turned on he is, like you knew he’d be—sends you over the edge. You orgasm with a loud cry, head tipping back as the tension and arousal built up in your lower abdomen releases. You slump against the pillows, panting as pleasure sings through your veins. Your hips and thighs jerk as the aftershocks of your climax wash over you. You catch your breath for a few moments, head swimming with lust and satisfaction –and, when you can open your eyes again, you look over at your husband and promptly whimper.</p>
<p>He’s staring at you, eyes dark and wide. He’s breathing hard, like he’s just run a marathon, even though he hasn’t left his seat. His whole body’s tense, and he’s sitting on the edge of his seat, like he’s waiting for a reason, any reason at all to get up.</p>
<p><em>He’s waiting on me</em>. Your heart thuds heavy in your chest when the realization hits. You lick your lips –even though your mouth’s just as dry—and hold out a hand to him.</p>
<p>Piotr’s out of his seat in a flash. He lets his sketchpad and pencil tumble to the floor, instead crawling up the bed in two quick moments, pressing himself against you.</p>
<p>You moan, guttural and broken, when his lips press against yours. Elation surges through you –and then you whimper when he takes the two fingers you’d masturbated with and sucks your arousal off of them. “Piotr—”</p>
<p>He growls. His fist clenches, gripping the flimsy material of your negligee. “Are you attached to this?”</p>
<p>“Rip it,” you gasp. “Tear it apart, Piotr, <em>please</em>—”</p>
<p>He groans, then yanks your nightie into shreds, and—</p>
<p>Bliss.</p>
<p>There’s no other way to describe everything that follows.</p>
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